


There Was A Moment

by Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar)



Series: дезинформация [15]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Basically all of the feels, Bucky Barnes Feels, Falling In Love, Friendship, M/M, Steve Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers-centric, Tony Stark Feels, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 22:16:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2445113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaqen_hgar/pseuds/Finely%20Honed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve wishes time travel worked, because he has a list, one specific to him and Tony Stark, and it's only getting longer. </p><p>The list changes, because sometimes he's convinced the rest of it would be entirely unnecessary if only he could go back and talk to Howard. Or maybe sock him in the jaw.</p><p>
  <em>Steve, on the outside looking in.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Was A Moment

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Тот самый момент](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5712142) by [Heidel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heidel/pseuds/Heidel)



It’s always been about timing for Steve.

Project Rebirth.

A shot rings out and Erskine falls to the ground. 

Peggy Carter.

Bucky Barnes, lost, and found, and lost again.

Bracing for impact, he tries to hold onto the sound of Peggy’s voice, knowing they’ll never have that dance. He thinks of Bucky—more his brother than a friend—of his mom, of his dad, wonders if he’ll see them on the other side. He prays that he’s done enough, hopes that he’s fulfilled his purpose, that HYDRA's plans have been derailed, and that… 

It goes dark.

Waking up in a New York that is not New York, he mourns. He rages. He is so very young, in the grand scheme of things, and yet he feels a thousand years old.

Tony Stark.

His mouth opens, and he hardly recognizes the venom churning in his heart, thinking only of his friends, everyone he loved, his _entire world_ , dead and gone and forgotten. 

What, exactly, had he fought for? What had they sacrificed everything for? The people he loves are dust, but this man is here, and he doesn’t deserve to be.

Tony Stark answers flippantly, but…

It takes Steve a long time to realize the damage done by those words, much longer than it takes to understand how wrong he was when he said them. 

He had a chance to apologize, and did, it was accepted even, brushed aside as unnecessary, but sometimes Steve can still see that flash in Tony’s eyes, and understands that without even trying, he’d slipped a knife in under Tony’s well constructed defenses, and left behind a wound that refused to heal.

Sometimes, he’s glad of it. At least he was able to leave a mark on the man, invisible as it is.

Most of the time, he wants to shake Tony, force him to understand how very _good_ he is, and how very _wrong_ Steve was, but he knows no matter what he did, it wouldn’t work. It’ll always be there, somewhere between them.

In that brilliant mind of Tony’s, there is an echo of Steve’s voice sharing his low opinion of Tony’s worth, demanding to know, “What are you?”

He’s Steve’s best friend. 

Tony works so hard, too hard, and never seems to comprehend how much better he’s made the world. He’ll brag about it without believing a single word he says, trying to make you resent him, even as your life is made easier by his creations.

He really is a philanthropist, to an extent Steve suspects no one other than Pepper, Natasha, and himself are aware of. Tony will downplay this, turns it all into a joke, and it isn’t false modesty, nowhere near it. 

Get enough scotch into him and Tony will let you know just how little he thinks of his accomplishments, to an extent that it leaves Steve’s chest aching.

He throws his life around as if he is replaceable.

Tony _isn’t replaceable_. He’s quickly become Steve’s lifeline.

He drinks too much, and doesn’t sleep enough, and is capable of lashing out spectacularly, but only because he’s been hurt so many times. Steve doesn’t want to be on the list of people who has hurt Tony Stark, but he is.

Tony has the best laugh Steve's ever heard, unless he's laughing at you. When he smiles, his eyes crinkle at the corners, and Steve can’t help but smile back. He pulls light and color out of thin air, and takes every problem as a personal challenge, and he builds them a home. That in and of itself is an amazing accomplishment, but Tony doesn't even let them thank him properly.

Bucky, and Peggy, and Howard, and Erskine; it's like Tony is the best parts of all of them, and Steve doesn't understand how it took him so long to see this. 

Until he remembers it's because Tony tries desperately to hide, is an expert at it, really.

It's also because Steve didn't want to see.

Tony asks him to live in the Tower, more than once, but he refuses, and he's not sure why. Maybe because a part of him knew what would happen, even then. Maybe because he’s hanging onto Peggy, even though she forgets and remembers and forgets again; it breaks his heart every single time it happens.

He _wants_ to live there. Bruce has already moved in, and rumor has it Barton could be found there between missions, which meant Natasha was next.

Pepper comes to see him, asks as well, and he makes a joke, not understanding why her face pinches, not realizing that she's already left Tony.

Pepper is how he learns that the entire time he was trying to keep Tony at arms length, the man was working behind the scenes to help him, talked about him almost incessantly, and so of course Pepper thought they were close.

He starts acting like they are.

Now, he wishes time travel worked, because he has a list, one specific to him and Tony Stark, and it's only getting longer. 

The list changes, because sometimes he's convinced the rest of it would be entirely unnecessary if only he could go back and talk to Howard. Or maybe sock him in the jaw. 

When he does move in, he's worried it's already too late, but somehow, it isn’t. He finds himself spending long hours in the workshop. Sketching. Talking. Listening. Watching. Growing up a little. Slowly letting go of the past. Learning to appreciate the future. 

Tony is filthy rich, but his fingers are calloused. This says more about him to Steve than anything he’s read in the files, or seen on the news. His eyes remind him of Peggy, and the sass mouth on him reminds Steve of Bucky. He seemingly never stops thinking, and hardly ever shuts up, not until you most need him to talk to you.

Steve finds himself thinking how good it is to have a friend again. 

Things are complicated between them, but they didn't need to be. He knows now, he's the reason why; him and his timing and his fear. 

Because Tony Stark scares him in all the ways jumping out of a plane without a parachute doesn't. He's larger than life, and beautiful, and so very damaged. He fights like he’s got nothing to lose, never stops fighting, and Steve isn't even sure at what point he fell in love with Tony, but he spends a great deal of time trying to convince himself otherwise. 

It'd be a bad idea. 

Tony wasn't the sort you entrusted with a fragile heart. 

He was too reckless, and it was already hard enough for Steve, coping with the losses he’d experienced. Coping with seeing Peggy. He shouldn't—can’t—put himself out there for someone so ready to throw everything away.

Too late, he understands that Tony had been looking for a reason to stop, and Steve could have been that reason. He should have, actually, they should have been _each other's_ reason, but he was so busy being scared, and cautious, and practical, and so very unlike himself… 

Everyone seems to forget how broken he is. How much he’s had taken from him, what he’s given up, how young he is, how many people he’s had to kill, or hurt, and that in his mind, he’s still just a kid from Brooklyn. 

He’s Captain America, but he’s also Steve Rogers, and Steve still thinks of himself as that little guy who hated bullies, and wheezed when he ran, the one no one wanted to dance with.

And _that_ Steve tells himself he has no business even thinking about taking on someone like _Tony Stark,_ not romantically. What the hell could he even bring to that equation?

He should have known better; he’s just not sure _how_ he was supposed to know, not without having had more time. In hindsight, it’s crystal clear, but…

See, there was a moment. It took him a while, but he’s spent enough time thinking back, agonizing over what he should have done differently, and he’s finally figured out when it was that he’d made the mistake that changed everything.

Another late night in a long string of late nights, and Tony has had enough to drink that he's calm, relaxed. You can almost see that his thoughts have slowed down, and Steve idly wonders if this is a big part of why Tony drinks, just so he'll stop thinking so much.

He isn't drunk, though, just relaxed, and no one else is around, but Tony is still sitting close enough that Steve can feel him breathing. Can feel the heat of his body pressed against his side, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh.

He isn't sure what it is they're watching. He thought it was an old sci-fi movie, but there are people sitting at the bottom of the screen making fun of it, which is odd, and when he turns to ask why he finds Tony watching him, an unguarded expression on his face.

Just like that, Steve's heart is racing, he's all fight or flight, and when Tony touches the side of his face, he flinches, and without thinking he brushes Tony's hand aside. Gently. Really, he hardly touched Tony’s hand at all, but it was enough.

 _Now_ he understands what it was he saw cascading across Tony’s face—all the shields coming down hard, the soft look in Tony's eyes replaced with something that is now all too familiar; something dark, and always aimed inward. It’s so fast, and the smile that followed was one of his Press Circuit Smiles. But _that_ Steve didn’t have enough knowledge of Tony Stark to recognize what was happening.

"Chill, Capsicle," Tony's voice sounds light, easy, and it turns out that was all an act. "You've got something on your face. Guess you’re bound to get dirty if you spend time with me."

His smile widens, and he shakes the ice around his empty glass, gets up, pours himself another, but instead of returning to the couch he plops himself down in the chair closest to the bar, his legs hanging over the arm, body relaxed as if everything is right in the world. 

When he touches his cheek, Steve’s fingers come away with the tiniest bit of grease on them, and he murmurs his thanks. Tony doesn’t answer him. Steve can feel everywhere Tony's body had made him warm slowly turning cold, the absence of that heat beside him, and he doesn't know what to do or say and so he does nothing.

Tony stays for another half hour before wandering off with talk of bed, and the next day he learns that Tony had to leave town for business, and Steve doesn't see him again for almost a week.

He didn’t understand it was their moment.

The thing is, how was he to know? When Tony returns, they still spend a ridiculous amount of time together. He never turns Steve away—he’ll lock out the others, but never Steve—only he doesn't seek him out quite in the way he did before. 

Tony still touches him, but when he looks back, Steve realizes that it stopped happening when they were alone together.

Iron Man and Captain America, Captain America and Iron Man. They fight together, and sometimes they fight each other. 

Tony is his best friend, but it isn’t like it was with Bucky. 

Not at all.

One afternoon when they’re sparring together, Steve is distracted and annoyed, because Tony smells amazing despite being hot and sweaty, which makes no sense whatsoever. Steve almost complains about it, but finds himself suddenly captivated, watching as several beads of sweat slide wetly down the long column of Tony’s neck, down and down, sliding into to the curves and dips of his collarbone. 

There is the compulsion to lean forward, to follow the trail in reverse, lap through and across and over, slide his tongue up to trace the muscles of Tony’s neck, to _taste_ him, and Steve is surprised, because he only just manages to stop himself from following through on the impulse.

Tony is smiling at him, and Steve can’t breathe, and he thinks maybe falling in love isn’t something you have any control over. That maybe the idea of loving Tony is so terrifying because it would mean the ice wasn’t an accident. It might mean that he was never supposed to be with Peggy. Maybe everything was leading up to _this_.

They live together, and fight side by side, and each day Steve feels a little braver. He reaches out where once Tony might have, and thinks they’ll have a moment one of these days, a little window where it’ll feel safe, and right, and so he stops being afraid.

It was already too late, but Steve didn’t know it at the time. The memory of pushing aside Tony’s hand was distant, and they’d made so many other memories since then. Cooking together, countless hours spent at each other’s side, Tony’s arm slung around his shoulders, laughing together, Clint calling them Mom and Dad, and Steve blushing and watching Tony’s reaction out of the corner of his eye.

+

Bucky Barnes, found again. 

The world is turned upside down. Without ever saying so, Tony has been looking for Bucky for him, has tracked him down, and pulls Steve aside to give him his best friend, his brother, back. 

Tony is the reason Steve is able to keep Bucky, when he and the Avengers go to confront the man that was the Winter Soldier. Tony fights dirty and throws his money around without ever telling Steve it's happened, and suddenly what's left of S.H.I.E.L.D. and other interested parties backs off, and Bucky is living in the Tower with them.

It's understandably distracting. 

It's hard to look at Bucky without hurting, because he's never felt so grateful, so ashamed, so guilty, so selfish, and happy, and scared. Tony lets him cry, doesn't try to make it all better, just holds him through it all, a warm hand rubbing circles between his shoulder blades. 

Trying to explain Tony Stark to Bucky is next to impossible, and Steve does an awful job of it, Bucky losing his patience and cutting through the nervousness with a brusque, “Do you trust him?”

There’s no hesitation when he answers, “Yes.”

If it were really Bucky Barnes standing beside him, he’d probably have told him everything on the spot, asked Bucky’s advice, gotten himself teased before being encouraged to just go for it. 

The problem is, this isn’t his best friend. This man is different. Hollowed out. He speaks Russian with what Natasha claims is a flawless accent, as if he'd grown up in Moscow. He looks at Steve like he’s a puzzle to be solved. A piece that doesn’t fit.

He is a stranger wearing the face of Steve's brother. Steve doesn't love him any less. He knows Bucky is in there, somewhere, and just wants to help him get better. 

“Hello, beautiful!” 

And he knows Tony is talking about the arm, is trying to make Bucky comfortable, but Steve’s crawling out of his skin, and sort of wants to throw up.

Bucky laughs, not a real laugh, more of a grunt than anything, but it is the most _Bucky_ response he’s seen from this man so far, and as much as he wants to whoop with delight, he also feels slighted.

Tony calls him James. 

Steve doesn't know why, but it makes him nervous.

They seemingly get along well, though.

Tony somehow knows what to say and do and how to act around Bucky. It makes Steve uncomfortable because it forces him to remember what he's read in Tony's files, the whitewashed version of what happened in Afghanistan, and all the kidnappings prior to that particular incident. 

He wonders about all of the things that never made it into _any_ files, every brick in Tony’s walls, every reason for his trust issues, and aches for both of his friends.

It is surprising, yet somehow feels inevitable; Steve walks into the workshop one evening, and finds Bucky sitting there, not doing anything but staring at the floor. He nods a greeting when he sees Steve, but they don't talk the entire time he's there. 

Tony does all the talking for them, while Steve sketches, and Bucky listens to the music, and stares _through_ everything around him. His hair is long, his mouth is tight, jaw stubbled, and his eyes are empty, except when they’re too full. In that regard, he reminds Steve of Tony. 

Bucky has ripped one sleeve off of his shirt, so that the metal of his bionic arm is fully visible, while the rest of him remains covered. Steve isn’t sure why, but is convinced this is because of Tony, and that maybe it is a good sign.

Being there with the two of them is uncomfortable and he doesn't know why. He begins asking JARVIS if Bucky is there before going down to the workshop, because it is feeling less and less like he belongs. 

More often than not, Bucky is there. 

Sometimes Bruce is with them, and Steve joins in. Sometimes Steve goes even when it’ll only be the three of them, but mostly he leaves them alone.

He wants to spend time with Bucky, and he tries and tries, but he finally understands that Bucky needs time, lots of time, and that just by loving him, Steve is hurting him. Tony doesn't love him, and so he is safer to be around.

So Steve gives Bucky his best friend, and spends more time with Sam, Clint, and Natasha, Bruce, and Thor, he takes on more work, and it doesn't help at all, because he misses Tony terribly.

He misses Bucky, too, but he's just grateful that he has the opportunity to get to know the person he is now. 

One day he tells him as much, and Bucky hugs him, his face wet against Steve’s neck, the bionic arm holding him almost too tight and all wrong, and he wonders if this is what Bucky felt, waking up to find the new and improved Steve Rogers had arrived to rescue him. 

"Let's hear it for Captain America," and he thinks there was something of this James in that Bucky's voice, even back then.

Maybe he'd ignored it. Even before he became the Winter Soldier, the war had changed Bucky in ways it hadn't changed Steve.

Tony seemingly breathes life into Bucky without even trying, just by being himself, and as a result there is a shift in the household. Bucky begins joining the others in little activities, even if he remains quiet most of the time.

Steve is surprised, until he remembers that this is what Tony does; he fixes things.

Slowly but surely, Bucky finds his way, finds his voice, and begins to allow them _all_ to help him. Steve is awed and amazed by the strength of his friend. The strength of both of his friends.

Steve can’t find words for how happy it makes him, being able to sit on the couch with an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, to reach around him to mess up Tony’s hair. It’s natural and easy, and he begins to think it’s all going to work out.

The thing is, Steve realized too late that if things were going to change between him and Tony, he’d have to be the one to make it happen, go in all guns blazing. Just put it out there, show Tony how he feels, show him that he trusts him with his heart.

He starts thinking about this, thinks maybe the next time Tony flips open the Iron Man faceplate to share a stupid joke, and Steve has that urge to kiss him silent, he’ll just follow through. 

Maybe it could be that easy.

He strategizes, and waits, and Bucky is smiling more, and making jokes again, and spending more time with Steve, and he knows he has Tony to thank for this. 

Tony is different, too. He’s less moody, focused again in a way he wasn’t before. He's better about following orders, taking less risks when they’re in the field, and Steve rejoices in this, because he still has nightmares where the wormhole closes with Tony on the wrong side. 

Each day that passes he thinks will be the day, but it isn’t easy getting Tony to himself.

And then Tony flies into a building, and it hardly registers, because Steve can’t hear anything over the sound of his own heart hammering in his ears until someone that sounds just like Captain America says, “Hawkeye, cut the chatter on the comms!” 

He works on autopilot, and somewhere in his mind he is reminded of going through the motions after watching Bucky slip through his fingers, and even though he wants to cry, or scream, wants to throw up, or destroy something beautiful, he is still Captain America, and so he gets the job done.

No one dares follow them as he storms after Tony, and he doesn’t want them to be _fighting_ , he wants _this_ to be their moment, right here. With Tony babbling on, color high in his cheeks, looking like he wants to get back in the armor.

Steve wants to pull them together, to slide his tongue into Tony’s mouth and kiss him quiet. Wants to hold him, and taste him, steal the air from his lungs.

He desperately wants to tell Tony Stark that he’s fallen in love with him.

If it was _anybody_ else, he could be selfish.

He would be, too. He’d follow through, and order Tony to forget them, and it isn’t ego that tells him that Tony would comply, it’s just the truth.

But this isn’t _anyone_ , it isn’t some stranger, it’s _Bucky_.

Still, he opens his mouth to make his confession anyway, but then stops when he actually _hears_ what it is Tony has been saying. 

He’s giving up drinking. 

He’s saying _horrible_ things about himself, while simultaneously begging Steve to tell him he’s wrong to have said them, that he’s not going to fuck things up this time, is desperate for Steve’s approval.

Finally, he says, “I’m not good enough for your best friend, is that it?”

His eyes are saying, “I wasn’t good enough for you,” and Steve doesn’t understand why until later, when he remembers brushing aside Tony’s hand. 

Then it starts to make sense, because he somehow managed to underestimate Tony’s ability to hate himself. He finally sees that, out of self preservation, Tony had needed to retreat behind his walls, had written them off for good based on the tiniest of rejections, all while Steve was finally getting his act together and beginning to open up. 

Tony had been as scared of Steve as Steve had been of him, maybe more so, but he’d _tried anyway_.

He’d reached out and Steve had unintentionally pushed him away.

He was reaching out again, but it wasn’t Steve he was asking for this time, just his blessing.

And because he loved him, loved both of them, Steve gave Tony his brother.

“ _Tony_. No, of course not,” he says, and squeezes Tony’s shoulder. “Anyone with half a brain could see how good you’ve been for Bucky.” He touches the side of Tony’s face, and lies to him by telling him the truth. “I was just… Well, feeling a little left out, honestly.”

When he tells Tony that he’s his best friend, Tony looks so happy, so surprised, that Steve wants to cry. How could Tony not know? The only possible answer was that Steve had failed to show him.

Later, when he’s alone, he does cry, and there is no one to hold him this time, because the only people he’d comfortably turn to in the moment are with each other.

He's had it backwards the entire time, because Tony was precisely the person you trusted with a fragile heart—his own had been broken so many times, he knew exactly how to put them back together. 

He could have talked to Tony, admitted he was scared, asked him for time to figure them out, and Tony would have happily given him all the time in the world. Instead, he'd managed to push him away. 

It's always been about timing for Steve.

He wishes he could go back to the beginning, and be braver the second time around. 

+

It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as he expects, seeing them together. Not at first, anyway. 

Apparently, the Tony and Bucky thing has been happening in slow motion around him, and he’s the only one in the household to have missed the signs, wrapped up as he was in his own feelings.

Oddly, it is almost like nothing changes. There aren’t any drastic, outward signs of their entanglement, and he relaxes. They’re happier, though, he can see that, and it’s good, they should be happy. He wants them to be happy.

The three of them spend more time together, and the new normal isn’t so bad, really. He tries to keep his thoughts under check, he makes a conscious effort to give them space when they need it, is careful to keep his touches innocent and evenly distributed between the two of them.

Steve thinks he’s got it figured out, a sort of balancing act, and things aren’t great, but they’re good, and his friends are happy. 

He tells himself it isn’t forever, but doesn’t examine what he means by this, just holds it in his heart.

Then there is an afternoon. 

Clint is in an especially good mood, and as a result they’re playing Gin Rummy together of all things, when Bucky walks into the room barefoot, wearing an Iron Maiden t-shirt and a beat up pair of jeans, looking relaxed, as well as decidedly _different_ in a way Steve can’t identify.

Clint, without even looking up from his cards, holds his hand up in a high five gesture, and Bucky doesn’t leave him hanging as he heads into the kitchen. The sounds of their palms connecting is loud, and jarring.

“Glad somebody in this place is gettin’ laid,” Clint says, still staring at his cards.

The bottom drops out, and it’s only because Steve’s gone numb that he doesn’t crush the cards he’s holding, or flip over the table, or deck Clint. He’s too busy trying to remember how to breathe, and desperately trying not to cry.

When Bucky walks back into the room, Steve _hates_ him. Only for the space of several heartbeats, but it still happens, and it makes him sick, the jealousy finally getting the best of him. 

He has never been more grateful for a call from Phil Coulson, because then he doesn’t need to excuse himself to run to the Pine Barrens of New Jersey in order to scream until he can’t feel anything anymore. He can take it out on an opponent, instead.

Tony is in rare form, more playful in battle than he has been in ages, trading banter with Clint on the comms, and Steve doesn't trust himself to tell them to can it. Not knowing as he does the reason for Tony’s good mood. He's worried something unspeakably, embarrassingly inappropriate would come out instead.

Truthfully, he's more upset with himself than with them. They're _supposed_ to be intimate with each other—it's only natural. He was the one foolish enough to pretend it would never happen.

By the time they come home, he’s calmer, and ready to admit that he’s been deluding himself. He isn’t sure why, precisely, or how, but he’d come to the conclusion that after some time, Tony and Bucky would find themselves parting ways, deciding they were more comfortable as friends, like Clint and Natasha.

He’d been convinced he’d have another chance with Tony, because… Well. Because the alternative was _awful_.

It’s much more difficult, now that he’s actually paying better attention, now that he sees the way they look at each other, the tiny, intimate gestures and touches and words they exchange.

+

There is a turning point. Maybe a breakthrough is a better way to think of it. Steve finds himself with an armful of Bucky, holds him for hours, even as he sleeps, he and Clint keeping watch while waiting for Tony to get back to the Tower.

He wants to stay, to help, but he knows it isn’t his place. Tony will take all the pieces of Bucky that have broken apart, and find a new way to put them back together. Steve knows he’ll be stronger as a result, but it’s still hard, leaving them to each other in that moment.

As the elevator doors slide closed, the forced calm slides off of Tony’s face for a moment, and Steve sees how worried Tony is, how much he cares. 

It doesn’t hurt as much to see it as it has in the past, and he thinks that is a good sign.

He might not be able to help in the way Tony does, but he understands enough to know it's time to start working towards officially folding Bucky into the team. 

They begin sparring regularly, and it's absolutely surreal. 

Steve knows for a fact that Bucky hasn’t been in a fight since moving into the Tower, has hardly done anything by way of physical training, but you wouldn’t know it going toe to toe with him.

There is hardly a pause, and Bucky is on him, relentless, efficient, and Steve has no choice but to cast aside his plans of taking it easy on the man. He finds himself wishing he had the shield, but then hardly has time to wish anything at all, because he’s simply trying to cope with this odd blend of Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes that he finds himself sparring with.

He waits for panic, or apologies when Bucky manages to floor him within the first two minutes, but he does neither. He smirks, teases, helps Steve get back up, and Steve knows that everything is going to be okay. 

 _Bucky_ is going to be okay, which means _he’s_ going to be okay.

The part of him that had been tense since he first saw Bucky's face again relaxes, and he feels lighter, and happier than he has in ages. 

By the time it’s Steve’s turn to help Bucky up off the mats, they’re laughing too hard to fight properly, and things quickly spiral out of control, until they’re trading playful slaps, going after each other’s ticklish spots, everything degrading into an homage to The Three Stooges.

Clint walks in to find them tangled up on the floor together, giving each other noogies, elbow jabs, exchanging harmless insults, and says, “Weirdos.”

They exchange a look, and as a team go after Clint, dragging him into the mix with them, and things only get more ridiculous from there.

When Bucky gets a haircut, it just adds to the surreality. Coupled with the change in his demeanor, it's easy for Steve to forget this isn't _exactly_ the same person he grew up with. 

Sometimes, without meaning to, he mentions something from their past, something Bucky doesn't remember. Bucky doesn't seem to mind now, he actually looks excited, and will encourage Steve to tell him the story. He'll laugh, and smile, and Steve loves having him there so much. 

Loves _him_ so much. 

It makes him wish there was a switch he could flip, one that would turn off his physical attraction to Tony, because he feels incredibly guilty lusting after his brother’s partner.

With difficulty, he throws out all but two of the sketches he’s drawn of Tony. Those he keeps are innocent enough, and remain behind with the other drawings of his family, of Clint, Natasha, Thor, Bruce, Hulk, Sam, and Bucky.

He tries desperately to not think of the two of them in bed together, and for the most part, it works. Sometimes, though, he has no choice; there is an afternoon where Tony’s tank top shifts as he’s working on the armor, and since Steve is standing behind him, he unintentionally catches sight of the lovebite nestled between Tony’s shoulder blades.

Steve doesn’t sleep that night.

Thankfully, Tony and Bucky are usually considerate about things like open displays of affection, which he appreciates, but the longer they’re together, the more the little private moments spill over into “public” places. 

It’s only because they’re comfortable with each other, with their friends, and technically the entire Tower is home for all of them, but…

Seeing them kiss is still a bit like a knife in the chest, only worse, because it’s arousing, and haunting, and makes it impossible for Steve to deny how good they look together, like he’d had it all wrong this entire time. 

Maybe he was never meant to be with Tony at all.

He wishes his heart would get onboard with this notion, but it still clenches painfully when Tony smiles. He still finds himself wanting to slide his hands under Tony’s shirt, to feel his skin, wants desperately to kiss him.

It wouldn’t be as bad as all that, except he knows for a fact that Bucky really and truly loves Tony. This isn’t a temporary thing, some passing fancy. He isn’t going to break Tony’s heart, or take him for granted.

It’s the end of the line all over again.

Sometimes, knowing this makes it easier. Other times, not so much.

So he does his best, when he has these thoughts, to remind himself that Tony is Bucky’s. Tries to refocus his lust into friendship, and support. It doesn’t always work. 

Turns out falling out of love with Tony is much harder than falling in was.

+

Time passes, Bucky becomes an Avenger, and Steve fills his time with the team, and making sure they all work well together, not wanting any of his people—his family—to be hurt. 

These days when Clint jokingly calls him Dad, it isn’t so much a joke; he really feels like he’s responsible for all of them, like a father.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Tony, as always, is the exception, though. Still the Mom to his Dad, the one person Steve can’t treat like just another teammate; he’s the other half of the Avengers, he’s the person Steve is counting on to take over if anything ever happens to him.

He hasn’t told Tony, but there is a letter he’ll receive, if that happens. 

Inside, he explains how he needs Tony to be strong, to pick up the pieces, take care of their family, take care of Bucky. How he’s counting on Bucky to take up the shield, carry on the legacy of Captain America. 

Inside, he lets Tony know how important his friendship has been, how proud he is of him, and signs it, “Love, Steve.”

For no reason whatsoever, writing that letter makes him feel better. About everything.

+

When something happens that sends Tony into lockdown mode, Steve finds his hard won peace of mind crumbling. Tony refuses to talk about what’s bothering him, and each day Steve grows more anxious. He wishes Bucky would _do_ something about it already, drag the man out of his workshop, get him to open up.

"There's helping and there's forcing, Steve. He asked for time, so I’m giving him time.”

And just like that it occurs to Steve that by now, Bucky knows Tony better than he does. Knows him _intimately_ , knows him in ways that Steve never will. And this knowledge, this experience, all the shared moments they’ve had, the memories they’ve made, also means that Bucky's love for Tony is in some ways naturally richer. It means the inverse is true, as well. Tony knows and loves Bucky— _James_ —in a way that Steve doesn’t. Can’t.

This realization is so sobering, that he can’t even feel jealous. He just feels stupid. _Of course_. That’s how it’s supposed to work, isn’t it?

Bucky is looking at him, and when Steve apologizes, he means it. Means it for so many different reasons. 

That bit of perspective shakes him awake. 

He realizes he doesn’t need to stop loving Tony; that would be impossible. He just needs to move on. And so he starts, a little at a time. It isn't easy, or painless, but it is necessary, and he finds himself happier as a result.

He stops focusing on what he’s lost, on what could have been, and reflects upon what he has, and what the future might hold for him.

Bucky puts Tony back together for a change, and seeing the difference, the confidence in Tony is eye opening. It’s a gift.

He’s surprised yet again when Bucky comes to show him the new arm. The red star has been replaced with Captain America’s insignia, and Steve finds himself crying. He thinks of the letter he wrote, and wonders if Tony has one of his own stashed away somewhere, asking Steve to take care of Bucky if something happens to him.

Wonders if it’s signed, “Love, Tony.”

Bucky is understandably confused, until he realizes how happy Steve is, and then the two of them are laughing together again, Bucky showing off the bells and whistles of his new appendage.

Steve is physically incapable of keeping a smile off of his face every time he sees the symbol there on the new arm, recognizing it for what it is; a proud proclamation of his importance to these two men.

The next time they’re all together, Steve sketches Bucky and Tony sitting together on the couch. Tony’s fingers are carding through Bucky’s hair, which is being grown out again, and as a result he looks like he’s somewhere halfway between Bucky Barnes and the Winter Soldier. Tony looks bright, and rested, and content in a way Steve has never seen before.

Between them, you can see the insignia on Bucky’s arm.

It’s one of Steve’s favorite sketches.

He has JARVIS scan a copy, sends it to Tony. Bucky finds him an hour or so later, and pulls him into a hug, presses a warm kiss to Steve's temple. The next time he's in the workshop, he sees it framed, hanging on the wall, and Tony beams at him.

He finds he likes seeing it there.

Steve has so much to be thankful for, and appreciative of, and even if he doesn’t get to share it with Tony in the way he’d hoped, he still gets to be his best friend. 

He still has his brother back. 

He has a team—a _family_ —again, and he loves them all so much.

They love him, too.

He's a kid from Brooklyn; he figures he’s pretty much got the world.

+

“You can never tell them,” Bruce says one day, and because it is Bruce, it’s easier to hear. “Either of them.”

Steve sighs, long and loud, but doesn’t stop watching them. They’re out on the landing pad for reasons he can’t comprehend, and they’re not even kissing, not even touching, but they don’t need to be. He can see from here how in love they are.

“I know.”

“You can tell _me_ , though. Is it Bucky, or Tony? Both?”

Steve hangs his head, smiling to himself because it’s better than crying, arms folded across his chest. He takes a deep breath, turns to face Bruce, and finally gets to say it. Not to the man he wanted to tell, but at least he gets to say it.

“I’m in love with Tony.” Bruce nods, and Steve understands he’d already known the answer when he asked the question. “And I can never tell him.”

“No, you can’t,” Bruce agrees, his hand warm against Steve’s back.

Steve turns so he can watch them again, laughing despite himself because Bucky has Tony in a headlock, and Tony is tickling him in an attempt to get free. Once upon a time, seeing them together would have felt like his heart had been twisted round the wrong way in his chest. But it doesn’t feel that way now. It’s a dull ache, not so bad, really. 

“No, I can’t,” he says, and when he exhales, he feels even lighter. His smile reaches his eyes. “Those two idiots are really good for each other.”

“Strange, but true,” Bruce’s voice is affectionate. “I’m sorry, by the way.”

The oddest thing is, Steve isn’t. Not in the least. “No, it’s okay, don’t be”

“Look at them,” he says. “When we brought him back here, I never thought I’d see Bucky smile again, let alone laugh like that.”

The next bit is harder to admit, but it’s true, so he says it anyway. “I don’t think I could have made Tony as happy.” Bruce looks surprised, so Steve adds, “Howard,” and somehow that’s enough, explains everything.

Outside, Bucky concedes defeat, and lets Tony escape from the headlock, which results in him raising his arms in the air victoriously, letting out a whoop they can hear from inside.

“Well, if you ever need to talk,” Bruce offers, because Tony and Bucky are slowly making their way over, punching each other playfully along the way.

Steve is still smiling, he can’t help it, really.

As they approach, Tony and Bucky see him through the glass, and their smiles grow wider, each of them waving. Steve waves back, and thinks again of how lucky he is to have them in his life.

“I really appreciate that, Bruce,” he says, “but I'm going to be okay."

And the best part is, it’s the truth.

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who wondered what was going on with Steve during _Pledging My Time_ , or the argument from _Mature Adults Conversing_ , here is your answer!
> 
> Steve, I LOVE YOU, you're such a good guy, I'm sorry you have these feelings, but this is my universe, and I am a cruel and fickle god. Tony must be with Bucky, so say all the voices in my head.
> 
> I'll make Steve all better, later on, don't you worry... We'll find someone to love him back. Meanwhile, I recommend [listening to this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kmpU_73CXxU).


End file.
